How I get from one site to another online is sometimes a mystery even to me while I'm doing it. I shouldn't be surprised, though. If I remember all the times in my life, during the dark ages before computers and the Net, when I'd go to the library (or a bookstore...remember those?) looking for a particular book and emerge blinking a couple of hours later, drawn hither and thither by one book, then another, sometimes forgetting the original goal of my visit. And the card catalogue...
Anyhow, an article by pornstar Jesse Jackman, an archetypal Daddy musclebear, about how his mother discovered what he was doing for a living reminded me of a moment with my mom.
I had already come out to my parents years before, but...well, you'll see what I mean.
It was about eight years ago and I was visiting for several days. We wound up one night watching the Sopranos together. It was the season when Vito Spatafore, the closeted homosexual gangster, was on the run and had started a relationship with a diner cook in some small New England town.
In this episode, they wound up in bed together. Buttfucking. It was under the covers, but it was perfectly clear what was happening.
We watched in silence, me becoming rapidly and deeply uncomfortable. I blurted out, not looking in her direction, "I don't think we should be watching this." Replied the matriarch, not looking in mine, "I'm more than 80 years old and I'll watch whatever I please."
The odd aftermath was, well, odd.